


The Wendigo and His Boy

by Sugarmouse



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Cannibalism, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Violence, Wendigo Hannibal, Wendigo Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarmouse/pseuds/Sugarmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My gift for <a href="http://howishughdancyevenpossible.tumblr.com/">howishughdancyevenpossible</a>!</p>
<p>Hannibal hasn't had prey in his woods for some time and this new prey is young and fresh and Hannibal is <i>hungry</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wendigo and His Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Hannigram Holidays to [howishughdancyevenpossible](http://howishughdancyevenpossible.tumblr.com/). I really hope you like this, it's a bit of an experimental style for me and I toned down my usual filth a bit. <3
> 
> A huge thank you to [@sarahfrankie_](https://twitter.com/sarahfrankie_) for the beta. Wonderful as always.

He has slept. He has been gone from the waking world for some unknown period of time, the woods quiet, calm, inducing him to draw away and rest. There is nothing to do but to sleep and pass his endless time. Yet now, something moves, rustling and tempting and waking him. After so long without, prey has ventured close and Hannibal is hungry.

His sleep has been empty, has always been empty for as long as he can remember. It’s punctuated by the nothingness and emptiness of his subconscious. He can’t remember if things were different before, when he lived. If there _was_ a time before, when he slept and he dreamed, things are different now, he’s better now and dreams are for mortal beasts, flights of fancy for lesser creatures. Hannibal does not need them.

Whatever it is that rustles and moves, that speaks with human voices and takes human steps on the dirt in Hannibal’s woods, will end. His woods are his domain, dark and foreboding and whatever enters has become Hannibal’s. This is Hannibal’s home, his kingdom and he does not like to be disturbed but he is _hungry_.

He has woken from his hibernation, roused by the movement and sound and intrusion of human life. There are fewer each year and yet here more still come. He has been hunting here for so long that people fear to tread, the visitors are fewer and Hannibal’s prey is scarce. He craves, sometimes waiting decades but he can pass it in slumber, thoughtless and empty, biding his time. The woods are empty but eventually they come, innocent and vulnerable, hikers and campers and fools who wander into Hannibal’s woods and become his sustenance.

He’s been solitary for hundreds of years and it feels right, it’s how it should be, how things are meant to be. He doesn’t remember his old life, his human life and that is the way things are, how they have been for as long as he can remember. He is content, for the most part, in his solitude, in his quiet darkness in his waking moments.

The boy is young, sweet smelling and tender and Hannibal watches him and his father from the shadows from the moment they reach the edge of his world. He lurks and watches the boy, mostly. His father is uninteresting as anything other than food.

Hannibal watches as they hike through the woods and he watches when they stop as the evening draws in. The woods are darker still as night draws in but they light a fire and put up a neon coloured tent and settle down to talk and _camp_ and it all seems so idyllic.

It has been some years since Hannibal has seen such young prey, tasty and tender and sweet and yet he waits, he watches. Perhaps it’s curiosity or simple interest but he desires to know this prey before he devours it.

The boy is young, compared to Hannibal, but he is not so young in human years. He seems the sullen teenager rather than the bratty child and Hannibal finds himself smile when he hears the raised voices of an argument.

His prey does not wish to be in Hannibal’s woods, dragged out into the wilds for a bonding expedition. Hannibal has not been able to enjoy a meal like this in so long, full of anger like that and Hannibal thinks it will make him taste extra sweet when he finally closes in.

Hannibal watches and waits and finds that he doesn’t want to take the boy just yet. He waits until they put out their fire and he watches as they climb inside their tent and he waits in the quiet, using his sensitive hearing to pick out the sounds of slowing breaths and slowing heartbeats and he knows they slumber, deeply.

He waits and listens, hears the boy’s breath speed up and the slight movement beyond the fabric wall of the tent and he can smell sweat and fear. He watches as the boy crawls out of the tent, he's breathing hard and every instinct within Hannibal tells him to move and bring him down and _kill_ and _eat_.

He is more than his instincts, he is more interested in this boy, in what has awoken him. Hannibal recalls that humans _dream_. He thinks he might have done it once, in the time before. He doesn’t remember it but whatever this boy has dreamt of, it seems he is unhappy.

He watches until the boy seems calmer, watches him trying to be quiet as he crawls back inside the tent and Hannibal thinks it amusing that a human could consider _that_ to be stealth and quiet. They don’t understand the meaning of such things.

He doesn’t take either of them the first night, and perhaps it is foolish not to but in the morning they set off and they move deeper into Hannibal’s woods. Hannibal lingers at the remains of their camp, smelling at the empty bottles the man had left on the ground and sniffing at the leaves the boy had brushed against in passing. Hannibal follows them afterwards, onwards, and listens and he smiles when he sees the boy look over his shoulder, trying to find the shape of whatever is that he catches from the corner of his eye, now and then.

Hannibal listens and it’s been so long since he followed human conversation, but the words still make sense and he can follow well enough. The boy is named Will and the man is his father and Will does not want to be here, dragged against his choosing. He seems different to the countless others though, not so wrapped up in himself so much as absorbed by the world around him. Hannibal feels as though Will is the one watching him at several moments and unless he was so entirely certain that he couldn’t be seen by Will’s mortal eyes, he might have pounced on them both then and there and ended it. He doesn’t.

They walk for hours and the boy complains about his feet hurting and the weight of the bag he carries and he looks over his shoulder into the shadows and Hannibal feels as though he’s looking right at him, _through_ him, and feels a thrill of excitement inside his physical form.

This wonderous little creature, this fierce little beast that snaps at the man who accompanies him even after receiving a slap to the side of the head. They argue and the man doesn’t seem opposed to physical violence, becoming angrier as their walk grows longer and when they stop, he takes a container from his things and drinks long and deep and grows quiet as the boy sets up their camp.

That same night they sleep, and Hannibal watches as Will is awoken by dreams in the night once more. Hannibal desires to know what Will dreams of, what is happening inside. He wants to know what dreams are like and yet he can’t see inside Will’s mind.

It is the third day when Hannibal realises that he must act. They will reach the edge of his territory if he does not. They will leave and Hannibal will be bereft of both entertainment and a much desired meal.

The woods are dark, blocking the sun and growing darker. It does not take much to make a man lose his direction, turn and twist and lose track of where they are. Hannibal ensures that they spiral around, circling and wandering. He watches as the days pass and the arguments grow louder and more intense. He watches Will’s interrupted sleep and tries to see any clue about his dreams. He watches the man find his last container of liquid empty and rage louder and longer. He watches dispassionately as the man punches the boy and watches as he falls to the ground, stunned and clutching at his face. Hannibal watches the two humans as they settle down and wait in the darkness.

Hannibal keeps his distance as they light a fire to stave off the cold night. He doesn’t like the flames, might even go so far as to say that he fears the flickering light and heat. It’s too bright and it hurts his eyes and even from so far back in the shadows he senses the heat from the dangerous thing. He bides his time and watches and he sees how both the man and the boy grow weak and he knows if he wishes for anything other than carrion, he will need to act quickly.

He doesn’t want to feed so soon. When he does, he’ll need to sleep and who knows how long it will be until his woods have visitors again. He doesn’t want to leave this boy to starve, nor does he wish to kill him, not yet anyway. He wants to keep Will around a little longer but there are so few ways to achieve that.

He watches them sleep and he waits. He waits as their fire burns down low and extinguishes and in the pitch blackness of the night, Hannibal looks up to try and see the stars. His woods are too thick, leaves blocking out light and he thinks it would be nice to look at the stars in the winter, if he is awake then.

He drifts closer and it’s the first chance he’s gotten to examine his prey, up close and without cover.

The man smells bad, the taint of something ugly on his breath and he makes snoring noises and Hannibal doesn’t even feel his appetite growing enough to eat him. He moves on, to the other side of the smoking remains of their fire and he watches the boy sleeping fitfully.

Will smells nice, sweet and delicious and Hannibal’s mouth waters at the thought of how good the boy will taste. He moves so close, close enough to feel his breath and the physical sensation awakens something inside him that he hasn’t felt in many decades.

He wants to touch and he reaches out a clawed hand, hovering over Will’s cheek and bringing his finger as close as he dares to where Will’s skin goes from pale to dark bruise under his black eye.

Will makes a soft noise and Hannibal pauses. He watches as Will’s brow creases and he makes one sound after another and he’s moving his body. It must be a reaction to whatever is inside his head. Hannibal watches for as long as he dares, waiting for the dreams to wake him.

There’s something about Will, drawing Hannibal to him the way Hannibal has drawn his prey to himself. It is some dark magic, but whatever spell it is Hannibal can’t sense it, only it’s effects. He stays and watches and admires for far too long, dangerously long as Will tosses and moves, threatening to wake at any moment. It is not until the air grows bright with the rising sun that Hannibal is forced to slip back away to his distance, both disappointed by Will’s slumber and knowing that his luck has held.

He watches them in the morning but they don’t move, both weak and tired and thirsty. He listens to the man ranting and he watches Will sit and accept that they will not be rescued and Hannibal grows hungrier at the sight of the man growing quieter and tireder still.

The man falls down but he’s not dead yet, just sleeping and Hannibal watches the pathetic sight of the boy trying to rouse his father. He draws closer trying to see better, to get a good view and he shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be so close to the waking world.

“I know you’re there,” says the boy, voice cracking slightly and Hannibal looks at him, sees how Will looks near him, _through_ him. He doesn’t quite know where Hannibal is, can’t exactly see the right spot but he’s looking so _close_ and if Hannibal had a heart, perhaps it would stop in this moment.

He moves cautiously, circling the boy and he sees Will look side to side, trying to see the presence that it seems he can sense. He gets behind him, gets _close_ and he stays there for several minutes, enjoying the sound of Will’s blood rushing through his veins, his heart pounding and his skin beading with sweat. Hannibal’s mouth waters at the thought of that sweet young flesh.

He watches the boy lie down, curling up and he circles again to watch his face. Will stares at his father and Hannibal frowns at the sight of the man, still and unmoving and he listens closely to the slowing heart and he knows, it will be tonight.

He waits until Will sleeps but why exactly, he can’t be certain. He wants to know if Will dreams, what he dreams of. He could kill them both and be done with it but Will amuses him still and it would be sad to devour the thing that entertains him, especially without knowing what is going on inside his head. Hannibal slinks in close in the cold pitch black of the night and his black form blends with the darkness. He is comfortable in his element, invisible in the night, the skies above so blocked out as to make the darkness black as pitch and there is nothing between him and warm flesh and blood but the man’s skin and clothing.

He tears with teeth and the body under him jerks but with the first tear, Hannibal takes out the man’s throat and any noise he might have made is lost in the gurgle of his last breaths through the flowing blood of what remains of his throat.

Hannibal pauses and licks the blood from his lips and claws and he leans in close, hunching over his kill and he takes one delicious bite followed by another. He doesn’t go right for the tastiest parts, he likes to keep the parts he enjoys most for the end, for his last morsels so he might think of the taste when he goes into hiding and sleeps.

He crunches on the tiny bones in one of the hands, cracking them between his sharp teeth and sucking the loose flesh from each digit. He isn’t really concerned with the level of noise he’s making, so used to being alone for this, but the sound behind him makes him freeze and he turns.

Will sits there, squinting into the dark and looking towards him. Hannibal swallows the morsel in his mouth and licks at his chin where the blood drips down.

”Are you there?” whispers Will and he could perhaps be calling to his father but Hannibal _knows_ that he’s not.

He doesn’t respond, not at first. He hasn’t used human speech in a long time and he’s not even certain his throat is capable of making the sound. He licks the blood from his claws and he looks at how Will stares into the dark, eyes straining to see and Hannibal grins at the sight before him.

”You’re there, I know it….where….” Will pauses, swallowing hard and Hannibal can see the shining of tears in his eyes. “Where is my father?”

”He’s right here,” growls Hannibal and at the sound of his voice, Will starts, eyes growing big and round, the scent of terror coming from him in waves. Hannibal’s voice is rough and deep and growling, not made for human speech and yet managing to form the words just the same. He clears his throat and tries to speak again, to say something more comforting, to _sound_ more comforting but he is not a creature designed to grant comfort to any living thing. “Don’t be afraid.”

Hannibal can smell how terrified Will is, his sharp eyes can pick up each tremor that runs through Will’s frightened body and he can smell the sweat on his skin, the pheromonal messages that tell Hannibal exactly how he’s feeling.

”Are you going to kill me?” Will asks and it’s only for his supernaturally sensitive hearing that Hannibal hears it. He tilts his head and considers the boy, considers the thought of killing him and perhaps he would go through with it, if the flesh he has just consumed had not taken the sharp edge from his hunger.

”No,” he says, as softly as he can and yet the human words still sound so foreboding, rough and deep from his mouth. His tongue and fangs were not made for these words and he instead turns and tears a piece of flesh from the body and holds it out in his clawed hand towards the boy.

Will can see the movement, Hannibal can tell from the way he jerks at it, but he can’t see detail and he leans forward, s quinting, trying to see. “What is it?” he asks and Hannibal grunts, thrusting the wet lump of warm flesh towards him and finally he deposits it on Will’s lap, dropping the lump of flesh and turning his back on Will.

He busies himself with twisting the uneaten arm free from his joint and then settles himself, sitting on the cool earth, rough with rocks and twigs and no place to have a comfortable quiet conversation but he tears a strip from the arm and chews and watches his boy sit in the dark.

_His_ boy. Will is going to be his and why not keep him? For a while at least. Hannibal is bored and lonely and he recalls vague memories from his time as a human. Some people would keep lesser creatures as _pets_ for companionship and Will could do well enough for that purpose, if Hannibal could keep him alive for a time.

He watches Will blindly reaching in the dark for the wet lump on his knees. He freezes when he touches it and Hannibal sees the way his eyes narrow and his lip quivers.

Hannibal grins, baring his fangs but it’s too dark on this night for Will to see the glint of light, to know the danger of the predator who sits here in the dark with him. He gnaws on a piece of bone and memories from long ago supply the word _ulna_.

Hannibal swallows and watches Will lift the piece of meat, feeling it with his fingers. He sniffs at it and Hannibal watches his hands shaking as he must surely realise what is being presented to him.

”What is it?” asks Will softly and Hannibal narrows his eyes and looks from Will to the body of his prey.

”Meat,” he supplies and he leans down and pulls more flesh free from clothing and tears another strip. He enjoys it fresh, still warm and blood still wet and flowing. He enjoys the way his pointed teeth slide through the flesh, enjoys the feeling of his hollow stomach filling. When he feeds, his concave stomach may even protrude, filling up on sustenance to take him through to the next opportunity to eat.

He looks up from his next portion of food, watching Will again and noticing how his lip quivers, how he swallows and he tilts his head. He doesn’t understand how people think any more, but he thinks that he did once. He thinks that once he understood mortals in a way they themselves did not. He’s beyond their concerns now and Will doesn’t seem to like the food that Hannibal has offered.

”Eat,” he orders and he snaps the bone he holds between his clawed hands and sucks at the marrow inside. He’s startled by the sob that Will makes and when he looks again, he sees the tears on Will’s face and the shaking of his shoulders and he smells the shifting scent in the air. Will is expressing something, a human emotion and Hannibal’s memory surfaces with the word _sorrow_.

”You killed him,” whispers Will and Hannibal watches the way Will’s shoulders hunch and his head drops. He sobs and cries and Hannibal makes the connection between Will’s action and the emotion he must feel. It seems strange, to mourn, and he thinks that is what Will might be doing.

Hannibal drops the piece of bone and he crawls closer, slinking and quiet, making no sound as he crosses the space between them. He gets close, close enough that Will looks up, staring blindly right into his face in the darkness, sensing him in the way that he shouldn’t be able to sense a creature like Hannibal. Will freezes and his breath catches and Hannibal studies the human face before him.

Will is beautiful, _alive_ and Hannibal feels his mouth water at the sight of the young live flesh before him. Yet he doesn’t move, doesn’t follow on from the instinct telling him to open his jaws and _kill_ and _tear_ and _eat_.

”You’re hungry,” he growls but it’s a statement of fact and not any of the emotion that Will feels or even the instinct that drives his behaviour. Will breathes out the breath he’s holding, shaking and quivering when he hears how _close_ Hannibal is now.

”Eat, meat is good,” Hannibal says and he sits, crossing his legs and resting his weight comfortably on the earth.

He watches Will’s breath in the air and sees Will shiver. He vaguely remembers that the air feels cold, or used to, when he felt those things before. It is all in the time before, the nebulous memory of a period when things were somehow different to how they are now.

”He...he wasn’t a good man, I...I thought about it myself sometimes but how could you…?” Will’s words catch in his throat and he closes his mouth as he perhaps thinks differently of the rest of his question. He shakes his head and curls his arms around himself and Hannibal’s gaze flicks down to the lump of meat sitting in Will’s lap, red staining the clothes Will wears and glistening wet.

”This is him,” whispers Will as he parts his knees and the lump of flesh falls onto the dirt. Hannibal reaches and snatches it, deft and swift and he sees Will flinch, his reaction time so far behind Hannibal’s speed, so _mortal_ and _ordinary_. Hannibal slips the piece of flesh between his lips and swallows. He does not want to waste good meat.

”If you don’t eat…” Hannibal growls the words, the unfinished thought and he recalls that humans will die, without Hannibal killing them.

”I’m going to die here,” whispers Will, sounding as though he’s alone, as though he’s only talking to himself. “I’m going to starve to death in the forest and if they ever find me… _us_ , they’ll...they’ll think I...unless….” Will curls his arms around his waist and leans forward, rocking slightly and breathing huffed out breaths and Hannibal can smell his tears, smell the emotion rolling off of him and he’s becoming so familiar with it. Will smells only of fear and sadness and Hannibal is bored of it, wanting and needing more.

He turns and tears another piece of flesh and he carries it to Will and holds it close. “Eat,” he orders again and he thrusts the meat at Will.

Will doesn’t move to take the proffered food. Perhaps it’s impulsive, to touch without meaning to _take_ as he usually does. Hannibal reaches out and takes Will’s hand and curls it around the piece of flesh. Will stays frozen at the feeling of Hannibal’s skin and claws. Hannibal was gentle though, he didn’t break Will’s skin. He knows his own power and strength, knows that if he were to break skin, to scent the fresh vital blood flowing in Will’s body exposed to the air, he wouldn’t be able to hold his instincts back at all.

~~~~~

They sit for a long time, in silence. Hannibal eats more of the body, stripping it piece by piece, working inwards towards his favourite parts. He takes his time with the delicate flesh of the head. He twists it free and sits and eats the skull clean as he watches Will.

He wants Will to stay, at least a little longer but if he does not eat, then Hannibal will have to kill him. He wants Will to be his, a companion, a pet, for now. He tilts his head and watches him and he smiles when he sees Will lifting his hand to his face and sniffing. Will has held that morsel in his hand for hours, holding it and waiting. Perhaps he waits until he knows he’ll be brave enough, or desperate enough.

The light starts to enter the air, barest hint of the coming day and Hannibal watches how Will’s eyes flick over him more and more often, picking out the shapes in the dark now that there is the faintest bit of light. He seems to stare at the air above Hannibal’s head and Hannibal smiles at Will’s apparent interest in his antlers.

”Eat”, orders Hannibal and perhaps there is special power in the third time because Will slips the piece of flesh between his lips and swallows. He didn’t chew it and savour it, but that will come in time. Hannibal pulls another piece free, larger this time and he approaches Will with slow movements. He holds it out and Will reaches and takes it from his clawed hands and Hannibal notes the fresh tears flowing from Will’s eyes. He will need to drink soon, as will Hannibal for despite the deliciousness of the blood he lapped up, he requires additional liquid to accompany his meal.

Will quiets, clutching at his stomach and Hannibal watches him, hoping he won’t be sick, to waste good meat. They sit and watch each other and Hannibal does not hide as the light grows brighter, he doesn’t slink back into the shadows this time but he stays for Will to see him, properly, by the dappled sunlight.

Will watches him, studies him, and Hannibal watches right back. There is no observation of the passage of time, only the way the light plays on Will’s features and the way Will’s eyes flick back and forth between studying Hannibal and glancing at the remains of the body behind.

”It doesn’t look like him,” Will whispers but Hannibal doesn’t attempt to speak and acknowledge. The remains of the torso no longer resemble anything human, let alone the man it used to be.

”What’s going to happen now?” asks Will and Hannibal growls. Will stops talking, quiet and freezing in place and Hannibal feels what he vaguely remembers as regret.

”Hunt,” growls Hannibal. He tries to think in human terms, to explain how they will live. “Kill, eat, sleep. That is all we need.”

”We?” asks Will and Hannibal smiles at him. Will shrinks back and Hannibal covers his fangs with his lips.

”I won’t kill you now,” Hannibal says, trying to soften his voice, to make it sound more human but failing utterly.

”What are you?” asks Will, swallowing and shifting in place. He folds his arms across his chest and Hannibal tilts his head to watch, to try to understand. He can sense how Will is feeling but it feels so disconnected to his instincts, to how he is now.

”Hannibal,” he offers. He points to his own chest and nods his head and Will frowns at him. Hannibal thinks it means he’s confused, he doesn’t understand and Hannibal tries to think of more words, human words for what he is. “I live in the forest. I kill and eat. Now you do too.”

Hannibal grows bored of sitting, so he moves. He waits and he hears Will follow and Will is not quiet, not stealthy. He will need to learn, if he is to stay, if Hannibal is to keep him. He will need to learn to sleep without waking. He will need to learn to eat more enthusiastically than he has been.

Hannibal gives Will more of the meat but there is not much left, not enough to sustain a mortal body. Hannibal tries to recall how long he was human in these woods, in the time before. There was a transition, a time when he was neither human nor what he is now. He was changing and surely Will can change too?

Will follows. When Hannibal stops and sits, Will does too. When Hannibal pauses to eat, he shares some of the meat with Will. It seems that Will’s caution and reservations have been quashed, for now. He eats.

The forest grows dark again and Will can’t see Hannibal to follow him, so Hannibal takes Will’s hand in his own. Will’s skin feels soft, warm, alive. Hannibal leads him stumbling through the woods and finds his favourite cave and he leads Will inside.

It is even darker now but Hannibal can see, he can always see and he sees Will. Even Hannibal, unfamiliar as he is with human needs, can tell that Will must sleep. He makes a space, shifting the soft bed of dried out leaves and soft earth that he’s created his space from. Will lies down and Hannibal sees him quiver and shiver, he is cold.

Hannibal curls around him but his own body isn’t warm or soft or comforting. He can do nothing and perhaps he will feast on the body when he wakes, if Will doesn’t make it through the night.

Will wakes during the time he should be sleeping but he seems to settle quickly and Hannibal wonders what he dreams of but he doesn’t ask. It seems wrong now, to know, despite his desire for Will to tell him, to see for himself what goes on inside.

Will survives the night. Hannibal can hear him breathing even now, asleep and without the dark dreams. He ventures out and when Will wakes, he follows. Will’s fear seems a little less present with each moment he spends with Hannibal. They find water and drink together and Will doesn’t shiver the way he did before.

They eat the last of the meat together and Will does not hesitate now. He takes to it easily and perhaps there is hope for Hannibal’s boy yet.

~~~~~

Hannibal would normally sleep when there is no prey in his forest. He curls up in the dark and hides and rests until he smells them but now that Will is here, he doesn’t wish for the world to go by in this way.

Will is like a shadow, quiet and always following and Hannibal finds it amusing that his own role should be taken by this boy. He is a boy, a mortal boy, or maybe not quite any more because the days pass and Will is still there, nearby.

The cold doesn’t seem to affect Will the way it did. He doesn’t shiver the way he used to, doesn’t cry at night, doesn’t seem to feel the chill of the night air. He doesn’t wake the way he did before and Hannibal feels something that he can’t remember ever feeling before at the thought. It seems bad that Will should be without dreams, even if they are dark and frightening.

Will doesn’t seem to need food the way he did before. He is hungry, as Hannibal is, but he seems as though he might be far more capable of waiting.

They wait. They sit together in the dark and when Hannibal looks at Will in the pitch darkness, Will seems better able to look him in the eye, as though his vision is improving in the shadows of Hannibal’s forest.

”Why did you come to the woods?” Hannibal asks and it’s as though communication is easier now. Perhaps he is remembering more human speech or perhaps he’s slipping back into something that Will can now understand. Will answers and they communicate and it seems they now both understand the conversation.

”My father wanted to take me fishing.” Will doesn’t cry when he mentions the dead man, doesn’t seem affected by it any more, or at least he hides it, deep in hidden places and Hannibal can’t begrudge him when he has so many hidden places of his own.

Hannibal thinks about the river and he’s moving, setting off before he thinks and Will is trailing after him. Will is quieter, feet softer on the ground and perhaps he’s learning his way, making the woods his own as much as they are Hannibal’s.

He takes his boy to the water and it’s dark and moving and it would feel cold if Hannibal could feel cold. Will steps in after him and he doesn’t shiver, doesn’t seem affected the way a human would and Hannibal smiles, all fangs and drawn back lips and Will nods at him.

Hannibal moves deeper, water to his knees but the water to the same depth on Will’s legs keeps him closer to the shore. His pant legs get soaked and they cling to him but Will stands still, watching as Hannibal moves further into the flowing water.

They both watch the fish and Hannibal plucks one out with supernatural speed, thrashing and dying as he squeezes his claws around the slippery body. He walks closer and holds it out to Will and Will laughs.

It’s not a sound that Hannibal has heard often. His prey is usually too frightened to laugh when they get that prickle of fear up the back of their necks, when they sense that Hannibal is watching them. Will lights up when he smiles and even in the darkness, Hannibal can see a light in him that doesn’t belong to what he’s becoming. Hannibal hopes he won’t lose it.

Will can’t catch them with bare hands like Hannibal can. His hands are still tipped with finger nails, not claws and his reflexes are only human. Hannibal gives his fish to Will and catches another. When Hannibal sits at the bank of the river to tear a mouthful of raw fish, Will sits next to him and he doesn’t hesitate too long before he joins Hannibal in eating.

”It’s not as good,” says Will, between bites and Hannibal turns to look at him.

”It never is,” he says and it feels nice, for Will to know exactly what they’re talking about. Fish flesh is cold and the colour isn’t as pleasant to Hannibal’s eye. Fish flesh doesn’t satisfy the same way and it won’t sustain him as his usual diet does. It fills his stomach though and he throws the remains into the water and licks his lips clean and he listens to the quiet noises of Will eating next to him.

It is nice, to not be alone and perhaps to have someone come to understand him. He listens to the sound of Will throwing the remains of his own fish into the water and he turns and watches as Will stands to stretch.

Will seems different, longer, leaner, less human and yet he’s still very much a person. He’s not like Hannibal is, dark and changed, not completely at least. Hannibal watches as Will unzips his jacket and shrugs it from his shoulders. Will drops it on the ground and pulls his t-shirt over his head and Hannibal watches as he strips his skin of his human coverings.

”I don’t feel the cold,” says Will quietly as he walks, nakedly into the water and Hannibal smiles at the pale expanse of Will’s body as it slips hidden into the water. Will crouches down in the stream, splashing in the black water and Hannibal follows him.

They contrast, Hannibal black and night and Will so pale and light. Will still innocent, still sweet in his humanity and Hannibal finds himself playing with the boy, splashing him back when Will splashes the cold water at him.

It’s a playful way to pass the time and Hannibal finds himself drawn back to the river, night after night, whenever other prey is more elusive. Will prefers the fish to deer or rabbits and Hannibal can’t resist Will’s infectious joy. He can’t remember if he ever felt that, in the time before.

They should be sleeping, should be curling up and hibernating and yet Hannibal can’t bare the thought of retreating into his empty dreamless sleep for an unknown period of time. Time with Will is different, passing in a way that feels both faster and slower. Time has become marked that way, before and after. There was a time before Hannibal was what he is now, there was a time before Will came into his woods and there is a time now, with Will by his side, becoming.

It is easy to pass time not with sleep but with wakefulness when Will is near. He does not need to hibernate to pass his days when Will is here to hide in the shadows with him and hunt and eat. His forest feels smaller with Will in it, but it’s not such a terrible thing.

It’s a pleasure to spend time with Will, to watch him growing and changing and turning into something different, something better. Will is still Will but now he is enough like Hannibal that he can stay, that he can live on, in the woods with him. They can hunt and exist in their woods for however much longer it takes. It’s better to forget the time before Will and for Will, it is best to forget the time before Hannibal.

They communicate, but it’s beyond human words now, though perhaps Hannibal still finds himself thinking in terms of conversation. He likes talking with Will, likes exploring his mind and comparing their thoughts and learning another perspective. He enjoys the tenuous link to humanity and innocence.

Will is curious in all things and Hannibal is curious in Will. He follows Will more and more often, rather than the other way around and sometimes Will clutches his hand and leads him through the forest in some new direction and Hannibal smiles at the feeling of Will’s hand, growing rougher and sharper as time goes on, more like his own.

Will is changing, physically at least. Neither of them speak about it, talk about it and perhaps Will was expecting enough normal human changes that these new ones might not seem so jarring. He takes to them, he adapts and Hannibal likes to see Will becoming his mirror, though he is still shorter, always slightly shorter.

Will’s head is still bare of anything other than his hair. He is still so human, despite the other changes. He grows taller, more slender but he is not as tall or dark as Hannibal. Will’s inner light would blot out any of the physical darkness of his new form and Hannibal knows even when the next prey stumbles through, even when Will won’t be able to resist his new instincts, he’ll still have a purity about him that Hannibal can’t resist.

Hannibal can’t resist him. He touches and sniffs and licks and tastes at Will whenever he can. Will doesn’t seem to mind, perhaps he even likes the attention, the affection. He comes to Hannibal in the day of his own volition and when they sleep, it is close to one another. If they hibernate together, Hannibal doesn’t think it could be without Will as close as possible.

Will is less tasty in some ways but more in others. He doesn’t feel the instinct to kill him for food, but rather it is instincts of territory and space that seem to kick in. He is stronger than that, smarter than that and he doesn’t wish to lock horns with Will as a rival. Will is so much more than that now.

Will has set in his becoming and he is almost there, almost complete and each night Hannibal listens for the sounds of the right sort of prey and each night he is disappointed. Will knows he’s listening for something, knows he waits and is disappointed but he doesn’t say his thoughts aloud or express them in any way that Hannibal can see or hear or feel them.

It is time enough that Hannibal would normally curl up and hide and rest. He would sleep but not dream, never dream, and the time would pass until prey entered his woods. Things are different now, he has a reason to stay awake and these are not simply _his_ woods, they belong to another now.

~~~~~

The man is alone. He seems well equipped for his expedition and he makes fast time as he moves through the woods. He will pass them quickly, there is no time to linger and stalk and wait, it will need to be the night of his first camp.

Strangely enough, it is Will who senses the change first, his new senses growing stronger and more sensitive with each passing day. Hannibal watches Will as he learns to stalk and follow, not allowing the man to know he is being watched. Hannibal feels something in his chest that might be pride but he can’t recall feeling it before and he can’t explain what it is about Will that brings this feeling to his heart.

His chest is cold, unmoving, and yet when he looks at Will, he remembers how certain parts of being alive had felt. He thinks on the fondness he had once held for others, other humans, but they are no longer his peers and he cannot feel that for them, not any more. Will is different though, young and beautiful and while he is more like Hannibal every day, he still holds something of his human life, of the boy that entered Hannibal’s woods.

They stalk the man together and the thrill of the kill feels amplified. Hannibal doesn’t feel the scratching urge inside to kill the way he usually does, tempered as it is by the desire to see Will bring down this prey. He bides and watches and Will is cautious, inexperienced.

Will has grown ever taller, slimmer, body stretching and changing and he isn’t quite what Hannibal is but he’s almost there. His antlers have not arrived and Hannibal isn’t sure if that is something that will grow in time. It doesn’t matter, whatever form Will’s body takes, Hannibal finds him fascinating and he watches the younger being move through the woods, _their_ woods.

They watch their prey set his camp and they settle down themselves. The man lights a fire and Hannibal narrows his eyes, shrinking back at the bright light. Will draws closer to him, both huddling together and staring at the flickering flames and overcome by their shared instincts of preservation and fear of fire.

They wait, biding their time and neither feels the cold any more so when they draw close and Will rests his head against Hannibal’s side and Hannibal draws his arm around Will’s shoulders, it is not for shared warmth. It feels nice, to not be quite so alone and watching prey is less tedious when Hannibal has company, silent though it is.

They wait until the fire is out and the man is curled up in his tent and Hannibal watches as Will pulls away and moves closer.

Will is breathtaking, if Hannibal had breath to take. Will is cautious, so new at this and yet taking to instinct so easily and beautifully and Hannibal watches the figure moving, on the cusp of so much, between human and creature and something else entirely and while Hannibal wants to join him, he wants to watch too.

Will’s claws aren’t sharp enough. They are not so established as Hannibal’s so when he turns to look over his shoulder and looks pleadingly at Hannibal, Hannibal cannot resist. He steps forward, closer, and they brush against one another as they gather by the side of the tent.

Hannibal can hear the breathing of the man inside, even and deep, slumbering and unaware and his mouth starts to water. He reaches a clawed hand and slices into the fabric, parting the side of the tent and unwrapping the prize within.

He watches as Will moves in front of him, sniffing and giving in to the desire that fresh prey is awakening. Will pauses to look back at him. Will seems unsure, uncertain and Hannibal tilts his head. Will opens his mouth, closing it, unknowing and Hannibal touches his shoulder, gently, questioning. It is strange to touch flesh which he does not wish to tear and consume. It feels nice and he squeezes Will’s upper arm, gentle pressure.

”I...I want to but….” Will whispers and they’re both quiet, too quiet for mortal ears and yet communicating so close to living prey seems wrong, dangerous. “I don’t know if I can.”

”For me,” Hannibal replies and he looks at the sleeping prey. “If you wanted to, I would find prey and feed you, forever, you would never have to do this.”

”You want me to….” Will ducks his head, smiling and his ever lengthening fangs catch the briefest bit of light, as little of it as there is.

”Yes.”

Will pauses, unmoving and Hannibal waits. Either he will kill the prey or Will is going to become even more beautiful with spilled blood and yet right now, Hannibal just wants to enjoy a meal with him, his companion and his friend and perhaps more and he recalls a time when human relationships were important, when they meant something.

Will leans down and Hannibal can’t see but he can hear the sudden startled noise, the terror, the gurgling of breath running through the blood of a torn throat and Will rocks back and Hannibal can see. It’s beautiful.

Blood runs down Will’s face and it’s so dark it blends in with everything around them. Will is darker now, dark as the night and shining with the black liquid and licking his lips and the only sound is the panicked dying breaths of the meal they are about to share.

Hannibal is hungry, but it’s for more than consuming flesh. He wants to consume more, wants to _consummate_ something beyond what this point has been leading to. He cannot move and he watches Will lean down and bite and tear and he joins him. They feast together, side by side and the small bit of blood still spurts as the heart in this body beats it’s last, as the prey finally succumbs and they in turn succumb to instinct and desire and they eat.

Hannibal likes the organs, usually working his way inward towards the torso and he does it now as well. They move, eating and sharing and taking their time and when Will looks at him, blood dripping down his chin, Hannibal licks at the red liquid and savours the taste of blood and Will’s flesh and each change in him that this next step represents.

Even as they eat, Will seems different, _more_ than what he was. Hannibal slips a clawed hand underneath the ribcage, tearing and plucking and extricating the organ that he desires most and he presents the twitching muscle of the heart to Will and Will takes it gently. His instincts scream for violence and yet when they share the last of their kill, they are slow, quiet, easy with one another in a way that perhaps creatures such as they should not be.

There is no shyness, the concept is one for mortals, with all their feelings and worries. When they touch one another, when they share this meal and one another, it feels as natural as their own instincts. Hannibal has not had this particular one in so long, it feels as new as it perhaps does for Will. To join and touch and connect seems normal, natural and right, as right as it does to take down prey and feed.

Having killed now, having given into his new nature, Will is perfect. He still has a light within him though, something that is just part of him. It draws Hannibal to it and he is as unable to resist, just as a moth might be. He touches and licks and tastes and despite the conflation of the urge to kill and eat and fuck, he does not break skin. He is driven by instinct but this is different, Will is different. Will is so much more than mere prey.

They move through the woods together and reach the clearing, close to where they first saw one another face to face and it’s a clear night. Without trees to block the light, the moonlight falls and Hannibal finds the sight appealing. Will is beautiful in the dark and in the light equally so.

They move around one another and Hannibal can see the growth in Will’s antlers, wider and prouder and soon they will be a perfect match. They circle and it is almost a dance, if Hannibal could quite recall what that was like to do before he was as he is now.

”Did you ever grow lonely, before?” Will asks the words as he draws close and they touch one another, skin feeling so different even though they are so much the same now. Hannibal smiles with a mouthful of fangs and it’s such a human gesture, one he hasn’t made so thoughtlessly in his memory.

”I did not know what it was to not be alone.”

Will nods and the movement of his antlers swings wide above them, the moonlight glinting across the spread. With each year they will grow more impressive, perhaps one day he might surpass Hannibal and yet the thought of it doesn’t bother Hannibal.

”You are not lonely now?”

Hannibal nods and draws Will close and their bodies should not fit, they are not built to be together. He should be a solitary creature, he should wish to defend his territory, to drive Will off or kill him as a rival and yet he wants him near, closer than it is possible for him to be.

”It is good that I did not know how it was to have you here. The time before, a century or more alone.”

Will nods and presses tight and it’s awkward now, his antlers pressing against the side of Hannibal’s head, the tips just shy of knocking against Hannibal’s own rack. It will be more difficult to do this in the future but Hannibal knows he won’t allow it to stop.

”I slept,” growls Hannibal as softly as he can and with Will’s now inhuman hearing, he must know that the sound is not intended to frighten. This is simply how they communicate now.

”I had nightmares, before,” says Will and then he’s up and moving away, deeper into the woods, between trees and shadows. Hannibal is quick but Will seems so much quicker, just disappearing out of view even as Hannibal chases.

There is something in the act of chasing that invigorates Hannibal’s senses, driving him to chase this new kind of prey and catch it. He’ll bring it down and he doesn’t think beyond that, what will happen to Will when he catches him but he gets closer and Will slips further onward and on it goes.

When they were human, each in different times and places, perhaps they’d grow tired and bored of this chase but on it goes and it reminds Hannibal of how it might have once felt to be alive. He chases and draws closer, near enough to grab at Will but then he’s slipping away and Hannibal realises that Will is teasing him, allowing him to grow near. He stops his movement and comes to a halt, standing stock still in the silence and listening to the noises Will makes. Will has not yet learned to be completely silent, although perhaps he doesn’t wish to try, perhaps he wishes for Hannibal to catch him.

Hannibal waits and he hears Will moving back towards him and he smiles with glistening fangs when Will returns to his view, moving slowly and cocking his head slightly.

”You stopped chasing,” says Will and Hannibal nods, waiting for Will to get even closer, within range to grab and pin. He bides his time and Will takes another step. “Why?”

”Why did you run?” asks Hannibal and his gaze is on every part of Will, moving across him, watching his feet move across the ground before checking his face, trying to read emotions that he shouldn’t be feeling, hasn’t felt in a long time.

”I felt trapped before you, with my....the way things were before, and now I’m not. Thank you.” Will moves within range then and Hannibal moves, swinging his arm and bringing Will to the ground as though he’s prey to be taken down but he stops short of tearing with teeth the way his instincts tell him to. He pins Will and looks down at him and Will doesn’t struggle, doesn’t move from the tight embrace and weight holding him down.

”I have you trapped now,” says Hannibal, pressing his weight down and perhaps there is still some part of the human there, messy and mortal.

”I don’t mind,” growls Will and what he does is not something that creatures like them _do_. It’s human to connect with another, it’s human to touch in this way, lips against lips and Hannibal remembers that it’s called a _kiss_. If there is a purpose to it, Hannibal couldn’t have guessed but Will wants to do this and it’s Will that is pressing against him and the surface of Will’s body feels so different to the surfaces and textures of the world that Hannibal has been living in. He knows the softness of the plants and the dirt and the roughness of treebark and the hardness of the rocks and the wet of the water in the river. Will is different and unique and perhaps his human instincts are not so shrivelled and dead when he finds himself moving against Will and responding.

They pause and part and look at one another and Hannibal can’t recall what this felt like, before. He can’t remember if he has ever looked into another’s eyes as his equal, as something other than food and here he is looking at Will and feeling something that is all too human.

They move through the woods, touching one another as they go, as though neither can stand to be separated. Hannibal leads them to his nest and they enter and settle and it’s dark and quiet. They will need to sleep soon, to hibernate until new prey enters their woods. Hannibal lies down and Will curls close, pressing tight and fitting perfectly and perhaps his instincts for solitude can be overcome and perhaps his place in the woods can be changed to accommodate them both.

”It’s time to sleep,” growls Hannibal softly and Will presses even closer.

There won’t be nightmares in these woods tonight or for any of the nights after, as long as it takes for visitors to venture in. The loneliness of the woods a little less stark, a little more bearable and for the first time since he was human, Hannibal dreams. He sees the creature next to him in his mind, as he was and how he is now, beautiful and close and perhaps the dreams are better because of his physical nearness. A vivid life happens in his head and he’ll remember these dreams, on their next waking, if they ever do awake again. He slumbers calmly, quietly, wrapped around Will and in his arms, Will sleeps calmly and restfully. for the first time since Will can remember his dreams are pleasant, a shared experience with the creature next to him, a whole life playing out and his sleep is restful.


End file.
